


Breaking Routine

by calamari_from_beyond



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Anxiety, First Date, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Relationship, give em some time they'll get it, kinda sorta, the lp and penny friendship is only mentioned but very important to the story, these ducks are in LOVE they're just scared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calamari_from_beyond/pseuds/calamari_from_beyond
Summary: After Drake agrees to a romantic evening with Launchpad, both are desperate for things to go well. Post-LGD.
Relationships: Drake Mallard & Gosalyn Mallard, Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera & Drake Mallard, Launchpad McQuack & Penumbra (Disney: DuckTales)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 132





	Breaking Routine

When Drake had initially agreed to the dinner-and-a-movie night, he had done so under the impression that it’d be a family affair.

Why wouldn’t it be? _Every_ night is a family affair.

Although, thinking back on it, perhaps he should have questioned why Launchpad had offered it up to him specifically when the three of them spend time together almost every night of the week.

He really should have questioned it then.

After the whole ramrod fiasco had brought them together, things had fallen into a comfortable routine: Drake and Gosalyn would lounge lazily around the warehouse, sometimes going out to grocery shop or hang out at the park, and take various naps throughout the day to reserve their strength and energy for nighttime. Around 7 o’clock on the dot, Launchpad’s arrival would always be signaled by a loud crash outside, and he would usually bring the two dinner and recount the goings on at McDuck manor before the group went on patrol together, as a unit. Then, following their return home, they played board games, goofed off, recruited a reluctant Gosalyn to binge Darkwing Duck with them… anything to fill the time until Launchpad had to make the drive back to Duckburg.

Every day, rinse and repeat.

Drake enjoyed the element of danger that existed in his lifestyle, but outside of superhero endeavors, he took pleasure in his personal life remaining consistent. No curveballs, just the domestic bliss of spending quality time with his Not-Family. So of course, with his luck, things were bound to change course.

It took embarrassingly long for the self-proclaimed super-sleuth to realize he had, in fact, been asked out on a date by his best friend.

A culmination of winks and nudges from Gosalyn had completely flown over his head, he’ll admit. So did the excited nonsensical blabbering from Launchpad after he had initially agreed. Up until Gosalyn announced that tonight of all nights, she would be joining the McDuck kids in their venture to the St. Canard Mall to do quote unquote “kid things” instead of go on patrol, Drake had assumed that this get-together was strictly platonic in nature.

When Gos left for the evening, the reality of it all set in, hard and fast.

Gosalyn had always been his anchor. The one to diffuse any romantic tension in the air and reel them back into reality. Whenever Launchpad’s hand lingered a little too long on Drake’s knee, whenever Drake was about to fall asleep nestled against Launchpad’s arm after a long night of fighting villainy; Gos was there to be the one waking him up and begging him to order from Hamburger Hippo, or sitting between the two to show them a crazy new mobile game she had just downloaded and already become obsessed with.

Without her presence, Drake wasn’t sure where things would go.

Upon the realization, Drake had dug through his previously unopened move-in boxes, and buried beneath dozens of multicolored flannel shirts was something that he saved for only the most special of occasions: a dark purple button-up patterned with tiny Thunderquacks. He doused himself in cologne, finished off the ensemble with a yellow bowtie and sat before his supercomputer, itching to check the time on his watch about every 15 seconds.

Silence permeating throughout the warehouse, as was familiar before meeting his Not-Daughter, was now completely alien to him.

Anxiety began to manifest and fester in his brain, as it often does whenever he’s left alone with his thoughts. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. Being Drake Mallard meant being desperate for validation, and he wanted more than anything for someone, anyone to assure him that he looked certifiably date-ready and things were going to be okay.

The thought of texting Gosalyn crossed his mind for a moment, but he ultimately decided against it as she had mentioned possibly seeing a movie with the other kids and didn’t believe she would respond in time anyways.

 _Launchpad?_ Wait, no. Given the opportunity he would shower Drake with praise, of course, but he didn’t want to talk to Launchpad about _dating_ Launchpad.

Struggling to come up with other options, Drake stared at the keyboard in front of him before his eyes widened in realization. In an attempt to jostle the computer awake, he pressed various keys until getting a response in the form of a pink voice wave.

 _“That’s enough, I’m up, I’m up,”_ W.A.N.D.A. droned.

“W.A.N.D.A.! How do I look?” He stood up from his swivel chair and posed for dramatic effect. “I mean, I know I look good but, y-you think the bowtie is too much? The color goes great with the shirt but I think it makes my bill look a little long.”

There was no way to indicate it, but Drake felt like if the A.I. had eyes, she would be rolling them. _“I can’t actually see you. I’m only programmed to process vocal commands, but judging by your tone, you most definitely are insecure about your appearance.”_

Drake sighed, confident demeanor deflating. “Yeah, no, I gotta talk to a real person.”

_“You are a very rude little man.”_

He dialed a familiar number, letting it ring a couple times before a familiar face popped up.

“Fenton!” Drake exclaimed, gesturing excitedly to the screen. “Pal, _buddy,_ chum-”

His friend looked surprised, perhaps a bit disoriented. For the first time during one of their calls, Drake could see some of the background he assumed to be his house. Fenton placed his hand over the camera for a second and called out, “Hold on a sec M’Ma!”

The camera shifted a bit, and suddenly he was in another room, turning his attention back on Drake.

“Darkwing? What’s going on? I haven’t got any more news on Dr. Waddlemeyer.” Fenton paused a moment, seemingly eyeing Drake up and down. “And, uh, what’s with the civilian outfit getup?”

Oh. Right. Drake played with the tail ends of his shirt, having been caught up in excitement of speaking to another living person had almost forgotten what he was calling about in the first place.

“Er… this isn’t a work call. I was hoping to talk to you one-on-one and get your personal opinion on… certain… things,” he explained awkwardly.

Equally as awkward, Fenton replied back, “Oh… oh! Uh, sure!”

“Look, you’ve known Launchpad for longer than I have, so I just wanted to get your take on us… him! Together. We have a date tonight… and I was just wondering if you had any tips…?”

“Oh! Dating advice! I am… definitely… qualified to be giving that out,” Fenton stated in a tone that suggested he absolutely wasn’t.

“Let’s see- Launchpad hasn’t necessarily confided in me about… romance, per se,” Fenton clarified, rubbing his chin. “Well… actually, he did once, but he mentioned something about dating his clone so I kinda tend to block it out.” Drake was well aware of this point in his dating history and nodded sympathetically.

“But if there’s one thing I know about Launchpad, it’s that he loves Darkwing Duck. And you’re Darkwing Duck, obviously. It’s a forgone conclusion.” A forgone conclusion? Drake had never thought of it like that, particularly because it was just so… different.

“With all due respect, Fenton,” he started off with a terse laugh, “liking Darkwing Duck the character is _not_ the same as liking Darkwing Duck the… me.”

Fenton shrugged. “Still, I think the odds are in your favor. He talks about you and Ms. Waddlemeyer all the time.”

The idea of Launchpad lovingly gushing about him and Gosalyn to anyone at McDuck manor who lent him their ear brought a smile to his face. He had wondered if Launchpad recounted their time together to his family in Duckburg the way he does to them. The vision of Launchpad chatting that hack Gizmoduck’s ear off talking about him made Drake feel particularly elated.

Another question formed on his lips before abruptly being cut off by the distinct sound of metal crashing against pavement outside. _“Ah. My sensors indicate that the lucky man of the hour has arrived,”_ W.A.N.D.A. announced sarcastically. Drake ignored the remark and promptly jumped out of his chair. “Ooof, okay, I gotta run buddy. Thanks for the bode of confidence!” he thanked with a salute.

With a nervous chuckle, Fenton rubbed the back of his neck. “Any time! Let me know how it goes- but, maybe not when I’m helping my M’Ma prepare dinner.” And just like that, the validation portion was complete and the date portion was already set to begin.

He jolted up the warehouse steps, prepared to meet him at the door, when he slammed face-first into the wall of a man around the corner with a slight _oof._ The second sensation Drake was hit with was the overwhelming (as well as bewildering) fume of paint. No time to question that, however. The dating clock had already commenced.

“LP!”

“Drake!”

He noticed with slight disappointment that Launchpad arrived at the occasion in his regular shirt and tie, just minus the jacket this time around. He carried with him a grocery bag stuffed with unseen belongings, and the contents of his second hand hid behind his back.

“I’d hug you but, uh, kinda got my hands full.” A bouquet of roses were thrust into Drake’s face and the paint stench became unbearable to the point where he almost gagged.

“Purple roses!” he managed to squeak out, eyes watering a bit.

“Yeah, I spray painted them to look like that myself!”

From his peripheral vision, Drake could see the supercomputer jolt back to life. _“Oh no. He does know that purple roses exist naturally, right?”_ He shot a dirty look across the warehouse (not like W.A.N.D.A. could tell, anyhow), but Launchpad carried on as if he didn’t seem to mind, swinging around the plastic bag in his grasp.

“I also brought dinner and a movie! As was promised,” he informed.

Careful not to let the petals dripping with paint get anywhere near his lucky shirt, Drake snaked his free arm around Launchpad's (was that too forward? He wondered if that was too forward).

“Ah, then, let’s get this party started, partner!”

The two walked in a stride down to the living space, taking their usual places on the couch (with just enough space between them to fit a plucky little teen that neither seemed to acknowledge was currently absent). Setting the roses aside far enough to not let the smell interfere with his appetite, Drake turned to Launchpad with anticipation on his features.

“What’s on the menu for tonight?”

“Uh, burrito, _anndddd,_ let's see, burrito,” he reported, pulling both tinfoil-wrapped burritos out of his grocery bag. He slid one across the coffee table. “Just the way you like yours, DW.”

“Thanks, LP.”

Whilst digging into his meal, Drake couldn’t help but notice Launchpad was quieter than usual. He liked the fact that whenever Launchpad was chatting to him and Gos over dinner he would babble practically nonstop; it gave Drake a break, a moment to just eat and listen and not have to worry so much about verbal interaction. Sure, sometimes he would talk with his mouth full or accidentally choke a bit on his food, but Drake was always enamored by how passionate he was.

Now? He spoke of Mr. McDee and the kids a little, but he mostly seemed distracted. His eyes kept darting around the warehouse, and he played with a frayed edge of the couch, or buried his bill in burrito. His smile was still there, unwavering, but Drake could tell there was something up.

He opened his mouth, hesitantly, debating on whether to ask and spoil the mood, when a large dollop of black beans fell from the burrito onto Launchpad’s shirt.

“Oh shoot.” Drake reached across the coffee table to retrieve and hand him a napkin.

“Here.”

“Oh no, it’s good, I’ll get it,” he insisted, opting instead, to Drake’s complete and utter disbelief, to attempt to lick the stain away.

“Launchpad,” he chided in a tone he usually reserved for Gosalyn. “You can’t just… it’s… it’s such a big stain, here, just hand it over and let me throw it in the wash for a bit.”

Launchpad looked surprised. “Oh! Well, if you insist, DW-”

The instant the shirt left his torso, Drake regretted the offer. He remembered that Launchpad did not own any other shirts, and that the shirts Drake possessed were far too small to fit him, therefore rendering his date shirtless for an indefinite amount of time, _therefore_ restricting Drake’s ability to breathe and/or function.

Drake fumbled with the shirt in his hands, at a loss for words. As if his face wasn’t already pink enough normally…

He somehow struggled simultaneously with not staring at his date and dying to stare as he choked out, “ _ER!_ On second thought- maybe you should keep the shirt on. Y-you know. You might catch a draft in here.” Launchpad nodded as if he believed Drake’s totally nonsensical excuse.

“Right! Well, I’ve just thought up the perfect solution to our problem-” He grabbed his shirt back from Drake and pulled it over his head (hopefully he didn’t catch the sigh of relief that escaped his friend) and maneuvered it around to be facing backwards. His shirt collar was pressed higher up his neck, Drake noted with some discomfort.

“Like my dad always says, out of sight, out of mind,” Launchpad stated with confidence.

“It’s still visible from the… Is that not uncomfortable, with the…? Oh, _nevermind._ ”

As if on cue, Launchpad took Drake by the wrist, eyeing his watch carefully. “I guess it’s that hour already…” he murmured ominously. He sprang off the couch, dug around in his bag and brought out the DVD, proudly displaying it for Drake to see.

“Uh… _Nightmare on Pelican’s Island 6?_ ” he asked, incredibly confused.

Launchpad nodded eagerly. “Yeah! Gos said it was your favorite.”

Just then, he recalled a conversation he once had with his young partner, in which the _Pelican’s Island_ franchise had been brought up organically and ended with Drake going off on a tangent about how much he despised those horrid, cheesy movies. How they were a complete waste of acting talent.

Drake spoke through a forced grin. “Did she?”

“She did! I’m not much of a fan of horror movies myself, but I’m willing to make the sacrifice for one of my favorite people. Plus, it’s a nice change of pace from what we usually watch, y’know?” he said with a wink and a nudge.

“Oh, I’ll definitely be sure to… thank her for that one.”

As Drake was too preoccupied with thinking up ways to Not-Ground his Not-Daughter to pay attention to the dumb excuse for a film that played before them on his computer monitor, Launchpad did not have that courtesy and was, in fact, very very scared. It only took the course of four jumpscares in a row for Launchpad to topple over on the cardboard box he was sitting on, screaming. The vibrations from his fall shook the entire floor, and led to a loud _crack_ somewhere within the hideout.

Drake’s focus was suddenly back, as he ran to survey the damage. 

_"NO!”_ he cried out, falling to his knees in agony.

His vintage 1995 Darkwing Duck Bobble Head laid in pieces on the floor.

A sharp gasp let out from behind him. In a rush, Launchpad was over, kneeling down next to him.

“Drake! I’m so sorry, _so so_ sorry, I… I can get you a new one!” he wept, desperately looking back and forth from the remains to Drake’s dismayed expression.

Drake found the will to speak once more. “It… it was one of only two on the planet signed by Jim himself.”

Launchpad visibly cringed before carding his hands through his hair. “Ooof, okay, that one might be hard to replicate,” he admitted.

“It’s… it’s alright, I can just uh, glue it back together,” he said shakily, collecting the pieces in his palms. “It’ll be good as new.”

He felt a hand grasp his shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” Launchpad asked. He sounded so incredibly remorseful, and there was a part of Drake that knew letting him help would ease that remorse. But the other part of Drake, a more stubborn, selfish side, made itself known. 

“No, that’s okay, Launchpad. Really, I can do it myself.” He tried his best not to sound frustrated, he truly did, but his efforts were in vain. The smile Launchpad wore the entire course of the date, insincere as it might have been, had vanished without a trace.

“Okay,” he replied, his voice starting to break. “Well in that case, uh, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go get some air.”

With a sigh, Drake watched as his date trudged up the warehouse stairs, before disappearing as he reached the top level. He put the bobblehead piece pile on top of a makeshift shelf he had constructed from empty move-in boxes, just about to find some glue when something caught his eye.

A text message flashed on his phone: **how are things going?**

Drake swiped his phone off the coffee table and angrily typed back. **Nightmare on Pelican’s Island 6… REALLY?**

Only a few seconds managed to pass before he got a response back. **BAHAHAAAAA I FORGOT I TOLD HIM THAT**

Drake rolled his eyes. **Thanks a lot, Gos.**

**it’s going ok other than that, rite? you two have probably been singing the dwd theme song for the past three hours straight**

The text caused Drake to ponder for a minute.

How was it _really_ going?

It was strange. The majority of the time, hanging out with Launchpad just seemed effortless. But tonight? There was an underlying tenseness to every conversation. Even Launchpad had been acting out of character throughout the whole date and Drake hadn’t yet been able to pinpoint why.

Finally, Drake texted back. **I don’t know. Will let you know how it went when it’s over.**

After flipping it over, he felt his phone buzz several times with instant replies but didn’t have the heart to read them.

Wait… where was his date? He had been gone for a while now, it seemed.

He looked around, being reminded after spotting a large figure silhouetted upstairs against one of the windows. Making his way up the stairs, Drake called out, “Launchpad? You okay?”

The closer he approached, the more he noticed the tiredness that had crossed his features, and his slightly puffy eyes. It looked as though he had been crying, and that fact alone made Drake feel like his stomach was made of lead.

“This is going badly, isn’t it?” Launchpad sighed.

“Noooo… _whaaaat?_ ” Launchpad gave him a skeptical look (he really could see right through him, couldn’t he?). “Okay, so maybe it’s been a little bad,” Drake eventually admitted.

“I don’t get it. Whenever we hang out, I feel so comfortable. Like more comfortable than I ever have before. It just… makes sense when I’m with you, and with Gosalyn.” For a moment, Drake was taken aback by the raw sincerity Launchpad spoke with.

“But tonight… I’ve felt…” He trailed off, then gulped. “I know I’ve told you about my exes before.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” he replied, unsure how that related to the conversation.

“I didn’t tell you about the last date I went on. A little after the Moonvasion.”

“...Oh?” It took so much willpower for Drake’s tone to not drip with envy.

Launchpad looked out over the horizon, his fond expression bathed in moonlight. “You remember Penumbra, right?”

“P… _Penumbra?_ ” Drake repeated incredulously. “That scary buff alien lady?”

“She’s not scary! She’s just got a strong personality is all,” Launchpad defended. “But, uh, yeah. We went out for coffee and believe me, it did not go well. I like Darkwing Duck, she likes pummeling anyone who says anything bad about the moon. We’re just two different people. Afterwards I thought she hated me but it turns out she’s a just a lesbian.” Drake nodded slowly, still processing the information being thrown at him all at once.

“And things have been super cool between us since! She’s a really good friend, even if she screams all of her advice to me. But I feel like ever since that flop of a date, I’ve been a little… you know…”

“...Scared?” For a moment, Launchpad didn’t respond. Drake recollected seeing glimpses of this side of his friend before, vulnerable and sad. Hushed midnight conversations as to not wake Gosalyn lead to some pretty deep places at times.

“I know I’ve screwed up a lot tonight, I just don’t want this to go wrong. I know that even if this went wrong, we would still be friends, but…” He shook his head, coming to terms with a revelation himself. “I guess I don’t want that anymore.”

Drake couldn’t stop himself from asking. “What _do_ you want?”

Launchpad’s reply wasn’t aloud, rather, his answer was apparent in how his hand reached down to grasp Drake’s. A soft gasp left Drake as he met his friend’s longing gaze, and in doing so, an idea formed.

“I… I know something that might put us both at ease.”

He kept his grip firm on Launchpad’s hand as he guided him past the opened windows that overlooked St. Canard Bay.

“Uh, Drake?” Launchpad started, confused. “Your figurine collection is that way.” He pointed downstairs.

Drake grinned back at him. “I know. It’s a nice change of pace from what we usually do,” he responded with a wink.

The two entered the general space Drake regarded as his bedroom. Launchpad had stopped at the foot of the bed, eyeing the mattress with unease. “Buh…?” Drake motioned behind him.

“Over _here,_ LP.”

He turned, eyes widened in realization. “Oh… oh! Records?”

“I’m a bit of a theater man, I don’t know why that would surprise you,” he uttered. “Why don’t you pick one out?”

Launchpad took his time to survey the collection, foraging through, record by record, when he suddenly stopped and pulled something out.

“Oooh! This one,” he said. He handed the album to Drake expectantly.

He recognized the title and bright, vintage cover art, but knew nothing aside from vague details about the actual musical it entailed, as the vinyl was a gift from a friend in high school. A curious choice, Drake noted.

“Hm, any reason in particular?”

“My mom loves this movie, she put it on all the time when me and my sister were kids,” Launchpad explained.

“You can call her Loopey, you know. Around me. I know who she is.”

Launchpad smiled. “I’ll remember that for now on.”

With delicate fingers, the vinyl was removed from its sleek plastic cover and placed under the player’s needle. Within seconds, a slow, romantic melody bounced off the walls of the once completely silent warehouse, but Drake didn’t want to dwell on the past so much as the present right then.

He wasn’t sure what compelled him to step forward and offer Launchpad his hand. His brain certainly wasn’t thinking any longer, thankfully, just his body acting on sole instinct. Launchpad’s hands were warm and numbing; a stark contrast to Drake’s cold, sweaty palms.

He led the two in a dance with newfound confidence, navigating them both in slow circles around his bed. As the song went on, he came to rest his head against his dance partner. The insincere, nerve-wracked smile from before was no more; Launchpad was positively beaming, his happiness almost certainly contagious.

A deep resonant hum came from Launchpad’s chest, to the exact tune and rhythm of the song. The sound rang familiar and very much appreciated. “I like how you s-sing,” Drake admitted, softly. “You know. Like right now, or, o-or when you’re washing dishes, or harmonizing with me. It’s nice.”

Launchpad stopped humming, briefly, before moving their clasped hands to hover over his heart. The humming then resumed as if nothing had changed.

Drake wasn’t checking the time so readily available on his watch, he didn’t dare, for once. “Just for the record, I don’t know what I would ever do without you. You… you and Gosalyn have made my life so... fulfilling,” he confessed, his grasp on his hand tightening.

“I feel the exact same,” Launchpad breathed out.

“I really want to give us a try, if that’s alright with you.”

_“If that’s alright with me?”_

Without warning, Drake felt himself spinning, soaring, dizzied with no sense of what was ground and what was ceiling. The only thing he knew that was keeping him tethered was Launchpad, gripping him squarely by the waist. As soon as the spinning stopped and Drake’s eyes uncrossed, a second sensation hit him: the soft press of lips, against his own, against the bridge of his beak, against his temple, against his neck. The sounds of light laughter and canoodling intermingled wonderfully with the music in the air.

For the first time that night, both of their anxieties were quelled completely.

They eventually returned to their pace from before, with the very crucial difference of Drake’s feet not touching the ground anymore. His newfound position, being gently held face-to-face with his new boyfriend, was perfect for nestling his head into his neck… among other things.

They were so preoccupied by each other and the music that rang throughout the warehouse that neither heard the little footsteps that clamored down the front door steps, nor them coming to a halt on the first floor.

Peering up at the two through a frame of bar railings, Gosalyn smiled. Good for them.

She retreated to the couch, popping in her earbuds and opening Squakify on her phone. Best to give them their privacy, after all.

She would ask Drake about the date later, but she had a sneaking suspicion she already knew how it went.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m literally so sorry i spent so much of this fic making both drake and lp anxious and sad I HOPE THE ENDING MAKES UP FOR IT


End file.
